The Theatre of Dogs

Chapter One - Promotional

One year, one journey, one love.

CONTENTS

Chapter: One

DEPOUL ALEXANDRIA 

So why did he end up here of all places? Well, to be frank, his story was one of selfishness liberally shaken in a large glass of fate. It was full of tawdry misgivings, weakness and vanity wrapped in a comforting blanket of supposed intellect. 

He had always thought of himself as intelligent, but had no way of proving this; it was just his 'well formed' opinion. In fact, it was more a sensation, despite his constant dropouts and failures, which obviously would indicate otherwise. He was described as entertaining by his acquaintances, but in reality he was quite vacuous, a flash in someone else's pan. He chose to ignore these condemning facts, such was his omnipresent eloquent cockiness. Anyway the term 'clever' may be a better description of him; an acumen that enabled him to cheat life and shirk work of most kinds that didn't interest him, and pursue his lifelong quest for a pretty face and a tall cold beer; his life was slap dash hedonism personified. But behind the mask of gaiety and politeness he was just a scowling wreck with few pleasures and fewer friends, he didn't seek solitude it found him.

It was just a fluke that he landed there over ten years ago. He was flying to another destination, but the BA flight was overbooked. He was offered an alternative city as compensation the next day. The check-in assistant suggested Bucharest for free so he took it on impulse.  

"Do l need a visa?" He asked. 

"No, Sir."  

Perfect...

He had a vague idea of where it was, and only knew two facts about the country: it had once had a mad dictator and he thought Dracula came from somewhere around there. He couldn't even remember if it was next to the Baltic Sea or not.  

He quickly found some private accommodation online, and packed a large book of some seven hundred pages; Crime and Punishment a classic and a 'must read' or so he had been led to believe. 

He boarded the 737, which was indirect to Bucharest. After two and a half hours the near empty plane landed somewhere in the middle of the country. Urgently, a group of passengers made their way to the back of the plane and started smoking vigorously. Apparently, once in Romanian air space it was permissible. He found this unusual and vaguely hazardous.  

It took off again for the second leg. Approaching Bucharest and flying low the snow began to whip past the window and, peering through the oblong fenestra, he saw a carpet of white way below; appealing he thought.  

The plane started to drop and dive in the blizzard. He wasn't the best flier and he began to become slightly edgy and nauseous. Next to him the rather attractive woman, whom he had sheepishly looked at the entire flight, squeezed hard on the foam armrest, and crossed herself rapidly. He had wanted to talk to her, but he lacked the courage to accost her. She had dressed in her best, with chic make-up and heels, and smelt overly flowery of cheap perfume. Obviously taking the plane for her was a special occasion or she wanted to die looking good.  

The plane then dropped like a stone, it felt like one hundred metres, and his stomach hit the bottom of his pelvis. The fuselage bucked and struck the ground heavily, scudding sideways over the ice-clad runway. Finally the plane slowed, juddering over the rough piste and its nose settled. Immediately the terrified passengers broke into spontaneous applause clapping with communal relief. He smiled.

After an irritating ten minute wait, they all got out of the plane. At the border gate the passport controller viewed him suspiciously double checking his documents. It was obvious that not many UK passport holders came this way.